The Quest For A Letter
by The Munch
Summary: Hestia Reynolds has been newly accepted to post-Kira Wammy's House. Donning the name 'Here' in hopes of being successful, she journeys to earn her right to a letter and the chance to succeed L. Rated T for safety.
1. Prologue, Hestia's History

--H--

Unlike a lot of the people she had talked to, Hestia Reynolds did not really have any fleeting pangs of regret at her parents' passing. If anyone managed to get a completely truthful answer out of her, she had not known either of her parents particularly well in their time on Earth. They had both died when she was quite young, and so she did not really have any conscious memories of spending any time with either of the people who were supposed to be the most important things in a young child's life. So, she was quite alright with the title of 'orphan' when it was donned on her.

When and if you again pressed her on what had happened to her mother and father, she would give the details as if they had been part of someone else's life and had not affected hers in any way. They were but another set of details to be memorized and reiterated when questioned on it. They were nothing horrendously important. At least, they weren't to Hestia.

Her mother had never been quite the same after going through a difficult labor with her only daughter. The toll it had taken on her body to give life to her child had made it quite easy for another disease to sweep through and claim her months later. She had gone quickly. The illness had taken but a few short days to claim her. Mrs. Reynolds was no more, and was a blank person in the mind of the daughter she'd fought so hard to let live. One might say that was depressing, but to Hestia it was just the way things were and the way they always would be. She claimed she had never needed a mother figure. How disappointing for Mrs. Reynolds.

Her father's death had been a bit more gruesome. However, it was again at a very young age for the young girl, and so her memories of it had been rather lacking of detail. The most prevailing memory was the foul smell of the incident. The after affects of what was still a mystery. The house that Hestia and her father had been living in together since her mother's passing had suddenly caught fire one day, and had burned nearly to the ground before the fire department could get it under control. Her father perished in that fire, never to be seen in his complete self again. Hestia, however, had been given to a babysitter for the day, and thus had been saved from joining her father in his demise. The facts that she had been handed off to someone else and that it seemed as if her father had not made any attempts to get out of the house pointed towards suicide. However, results could be considered inconclusive. Hestia, at two years old, was shoved off on relatives after going into the house one last time to see if anything could be salvaged.

The stories of the two deaths were easily told by Hestia, as if they had not fazed her at all. Some argued it was because her mind had locked off all memories of the charred house, not allowing her to recall the actual pain it had put her through. Hestia didn't much care what they thought as long as she was not suffering any ill effects. Which she wasn't, so she was just dandy with her life the way it was. Her only memories of 'parents' were her distant cousins who took her in until she was about nine years old.

In continuing with the idea that one might be interrogating Hestia on her past as she was about to face her future, one could ask her how these almost seven years went with her cousins. If asked this question, she would merely reply it was about as normal as it gets. She went to school, she did chores, she ate, and she had her own room, the whole cake. She did not seem to think any part of it had been all that exciting or worth noting in the long run. It had been what it was, and she didn't particularly need to comment on any particular event. Hestia was like a mule when it came to her past. You weren't going to get more out of her than she wanted to give.

However, it was far from true that this period in her life was uneventful for Hestia. It was actually the eventfulness of those seven years that would put her in a position with some of the greatest minds on the planet, learning in an environment that would groom her gifts to be used to their best potential. Those seven years were probably more important than most things that would be discussed about different facets in her life. They set the stage for the person she would become one day.

The cousins that Hestia Reynolds went to live with lived in the Los Angeles area, in a suburb by the name of Azusa. Azusa had been cleverly named so because it was said to contain "Everything from A to Z in the USA". However, Azusa was missing one important thing for the family, and that was money. Thankfully, the family had but two other children and so they could make do in the small, rather dilapidated house in which they took residence. Things there were always interesting, considering the state of money and the need to feed five mouths.

Despite the money issues, Hestia found her time in Azusa to be rather enjoyable. Well, as enjoyable as the girl had seemed to find anything, what with her reserved nature and all. Asking her family what they had thought of her, they would have told you they never knew quite what to think or quite what to expect from the girl. It wasn't that she was anti-social; it was just that you were never quite sure if she was showing or telling everything at the moment. She had an air of secrecy about her, even when she did spend a majority of time around other people. This air could tend to cause many people discomfort. This could have been a reason to her having little to do with actual friendship.

Hestia entered the Azusa Unified School District when she set foot in her Kindergarten classroom. There seemed to be an air of intelligence about her even as the young girl walked in that day, emerald eyes gleaming and coppery colored hair pulled back into a ponytail as she looked eagerly about the classroom. That intelligence became apparent when she stood up when asked to introduce herself and pronounced in clear, crisp tones:

"I am Hestia Agatha Reynolds. My parents are deceased and I live with my distant cousins in a house about a quarter of a mile from here. I am very pleased to be starting Kindergarten on this day."

At that moment, it would have been hard to tell who was more shocked, the students or the teacher. Needless to say, both were quite shocked for very different reasons at the very mature tone, especially for one so young. That was just the start of the surprises for everyone.

Hestia completed up through the third grade at the same elementary school, and every year she seemed to gain more and more intelligence. It became blatantly obvious by her test scores and 

classroom performance she far exceeded the standards for being considered 'gifted'. She completed work with ease, and was pressed with more always. All work and no play it seemed for the young girl, and though she completed the work it wore on her. It crossed her mind that they were only working with her so hard so that she would improve the reputation of the school and the whole school district. She thought about half-assing the rest of her work, leaving it to show merely passable work, but she was too proud of her skill and intellect to degrade herself so low. And so, the cycle continued of the taxing work and the many extra pamphlets sent home along with her usual homework.

It was never expected that she would suddenly disappear without a trace from the school district and the school after the third grade. But it happened, nonetheless. Her 'stepfather' lost his job shortly before school got out and it became apparent soon enough that the family could not afford to keep itself any longer in the position they were in. The only option was to sell the house and move to a smaller apartment down the street. It also meant that they gave up their care of Hestia in order to keep their family together. She would be sacrificed to being put in a foster home or sent to some care facility to await adoption. She would be sorely missed for her high test scores and gifted aptitude by the school at least. She knew her family would be sad to see her go, but it had to be done. She never blamed them for it.

One night as she was packing her things there was a phone call to the house. Her 'stepmother' picked it up and ended up talking on the phone for quite some time. Despite wanting to snoop, Hestia disciplined herself to stay where she was and finish packing up the few belongings she actually had to take with her wherever she would end up. The time it took for her 'stepmother' to get off the phone seemed to be hours. In reality, it was about forty-five minutes. When the phone call was finished, the woman who had raised her for seven years entered.

"We found you a home," she said.

"You did?" Hestia asked, wondering what that meant.

"It's an orphanage in England. Its goes by the name of Wammy's House. I was assured you would be well nourished while there. Someone will come to take you there in the morning."


	2. Chapter 1, Good Bye

Chapter 1- Good Bye.

--H--

Morning.

Morning was usually such a peaceful time, as it was when you were just waking up from a night's full sleep, awake and eager for the next day. That was how Hestia had found mornings for as long as she could remember. But today was an exception to that rule. That possibly started with the fact she had not gotten a wink of sleep last night. Ever since the news that there was a home for her somewhere else, in a completely different country even, she had been filled with anxious nerves. There was just a… feeling that this place would bring about something important. Of course, she had never heard of Wammy's house, and was baffled by its sudden appearance in her life. However, it had been too late to go to the library to try and research it when she had found out that she would be leaving for the place the next morning. So she had spent the night awake, lying in bed, pondering what her new life would bring. It was inevitable to leave for Wammy's House.

So when morning did finally come, Hestia was not her normal happy but quiet self. She had gotten next to no sleep and so she actually wore a somewhat sour expression on her face, upset at herself for getting so worked up about an orphanage. Particularly, the orphanage that would now be her home until, she assumed, she would be adopted.

And so, the doorbell releasing her to her fate rang at precisely nine o'clock that morning. Hestia was ready when it did. Her bags, or bag rather, were filled with what few belongings she owned. She herself had been waiting in the living room since she had deemed it early enough to be up and moving. That had been hours ago, and she had already eaten her last meal in the small house. Everyone else, bar her 'stepmother who was working in her small bedroom, were out and about. They would not be there to see her off. There would be no time for a good bye. Her life with them was over now, and forevermore.

When it rang, Hestia flew to the door. She wasn't exactly sure who it was, but some small instinct or feeling inside told her that it would be the person coming to pick her up. She _knew_ it. Who else would be so precise in their timing as to come directly on the hour? Who else would come to visit the family when almost no one was home? Certainly not any old deliver man or old friend come to chat with one of them. The logic seemed flawless to her, especially with the observations of past experiences in such areas. There was still a margin for error, however, and she accepted that. She made sure she hesitated for a moment and opened the door slowly, so as not to look too eager for the person in case it wasn't them. It would be hard not to show disappointment if it wasn't, however.

When the door swung open it revealed a young man standing on their doorstep. He was alone, a solitary figure looking rather odd in the small neighborhood. He was donned in a black dress slacks, neatly pressed and clean, with a white dress shirt of equal care and a simple, dark red colored tie. On a 

street of rather impoverished people, he looked _very_ out of place. Hestia noted that with eagerness, wondering if this was a good reflection on her new home. It would certainly be amazing to be able to dress so nicely in such fine clothing. She hadn't heard much about England, so she assumed this could have been the way they all dressed. She doubted that, though, as they were people, just like everyone else in the United States. No person could dress up like that all the time, could they? She watched him wordlessly as he watched her.

She brought her mind away from the type of clothing he wore to look over him as a person, and his other defining physical features. Hestia placed his age at about 17 or 18. He did look quite like the seniors from Azusa High, which was in that age group. His skin was too pale though for the mostly Hispanic population at the high school. He would have been a minority if he had been a resident, much like her. If life had been different, though, she would never have been living in the small suburb of Los Angeles. The man was also relatively tall, standing over the six foot marker at least. He probably centered somewhere around 6'3", an impressive height to the nine year old girl. His posture was slightly off, as he had one knee slightly bent, leaning slightly towards the right. It would probably be barely noticeable to most unless they looked at his knees. His hair was a bronze in color, almost the shade of the actual metal. It was truly something to behold, as such vivid colors were very rarely seen on a human head. His eyes were also remarkable, blue like the ocean with the hints of green that seemed to make them almost perfect. One might have thought him a perfect example of a male human, but the serious line on his face that was his tightly drawn mouth, his slightly leaning posture, and the ice hardness that seemed to possess him made him almost frightening. He certainly wasn't as perfect as one might think.

"Hello. I am looking for a young girl by the name of Hestia Reynolds," he said, his tones laden with a British accent. It was obvious he came from England; at least Hestia assumed that was one of the few places you'd find a true British accent like he possessed. She was not an expert on those things, however. She'd have to just go along with it.

"Well, you've found her, Mister…," Hestia started, her tones drifting off in an almost disinterested way.

"Mr. Lyrel, or most call me Robert," he said, his tones were almost heavy and commanding. He wasn't informing, he was telling her what to call him.

"Okay, Robert. I take it you are from the orphanage?" Hestia asked him, trying to look a bit demanding. This proved to be quite hard considering her significant height disadvantage. He merely returned her slight glare with a rather stern look.

"Of course I am. I assume you are packed and ready to make the journey?" he asked, his tones lightening slightly in their tone. He seemed to already have seen the small backpack and suitcase waiting in the hallway not far behind her. He asked simply out of politeness.

"Yes, I am ready. I have been ready since before the phone call discussing my fate was made. I am glad to have somewhere to go," Hestia said, watching the man with probing eyes. She pushed a strand of red-brown hair out of her face to tuck it behind an ear. Hi heather


End file.
